


Home

by tangerine (arte)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 11x02, Coda, Episode Tag, Fluff, Gen, Season/Series 11
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-26 17:19:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5013268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arte/pseuds/tangerine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Hello, Dean," Castiel said, hoping that the familiar greeting would help him feel better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Castiel forgot how exhausting it was to be under someone else's control. Images of Crowley and dogs and red smoke and angels and thousands of dead Deans flashed before his eyes, making him dizzy. His knees buckled. After a few futile try, he gave up altogether on standing upright. It was better to concentrate on remaining sane anyway.

The floor was cool. His Grace burned under the assault of the spell. He tried to breathe slowly as his body spasmed against the order it didn't want to follow. It was all too familiar. Castiel wondered if his previous experience in brainwashing gave him tools to resist or made him more susceptible. He was afraid it was the latter, that so much of himself had been already chipped away that he was left to fight with crumbled pieces.

Hazily, Castiel heard voices approaching him. Who were they? He felt his body readying itself to attack and resisted. Were they angels? No, he was in the bunker. They must be home. 

Castiel tried to call them, but speech was hard. He kicked at the pile of books to get their attention. 

He saw the gleam of metal, and then their faces. Dean and Sam, both alive and well. There was no lingering darkness of the Mark. 

He's back, Castiel thought dizzily. He knew from the moment he read Dean's messages that Dean must be freed from the Mark, but knowing was different from seeing, from feeling. 

It became easier to breathe.

"Help me," Castiel said. 

After a moment of stunned silence, the brothers scrambled to help him up and to the more comfortable couch. Castiel wanted to slide sideway and stay that way, but he didn't want them to worry too much. His bloody and beaten body wasn't helpful in that regard, but he could at least try. 

"What happened?" Sam asked, eyes sharply taking in his injuries. 

"Angels," Castiel said. He should elaborate further, but the betrayal and sorrow were burrowed too deep in his chest. He didn't have the strength to carve them into words. "It doesn't matter. Rowena cursed me with attack dog spell. You need to stop me."

"Fuck," Dean swore. Castiel turned his head toward him and noticed that he looked a little green. It occurred to Castiel that he had been lying on the exact spot where Dean had last seen him, and that it might not have been the most tactful thing to do. It wasn't intentional, but Castiel was sorry nonetheless.

"Hello, Dean," Castiel said, hoping that the familiar greeting would help him feel better. 

Dean's lips twitched reluctantly. "Yeah, hello to you too." Dean sobered up too soon, worry marring his face. "Why didn't you say anything on the phone? You knew I was practically calling and texting you nonstop, right?" 

Castiel vaguely remembered how his phone got cracked. "I lost my phone. Sorry."

"You are-" Dean stopped mid-sentence as violent shudder wrecked through Castiel's body. "Whoa," he said, gripping Castiel's shoulders tightly as if he could hold him together by sheer force of will. "What the hell? Is the spell supposed to do this?"

Castiel squeezed his eyes tightly. "My Grace is- figthing. It burns."

Cool palm touched his forehead. Castiel sighed, and couldn't help but lean into it. He was grateful for the small reprieve. "Shit," Dean said. He didn't sound relieved at all. "I think he's got a fever. Hey, Cas," Dean said, shaking him gingerly. "Do you think we should bring the fever down? Or is it helping you fight?"

Castiel realized his silence was making the situatuion look worse. "It's alright, the fever doesn't affect me."

"Bullshit."

"It won't kill me."

It was an unfortunate slip of a tongue. Dean pursed his lips, avoiding looking down at Cas' bloody shirt. 

Sam cleared his throat. "I think we could at least make you comfortable while we search for the cure. Are you cold? Hot?"

"I don't know. Both?" Castiel blinked to clear his head. "I think it'd be better if you restrained me."

"You expect us to chain you up in this state?" Dean asked incredulously.

"I was thinking more of holy fire," Castiel said. "I'm afraid mere chain won't hold me."

"Are you sure you won't try to cross it?" Sam asked. 

There was no reassurance that Castiel could give. His hesitance gave away his answer anyway.

"Okay, no fire," Dean said firmly. "You're staying right here."

Sam nodded his agreement. "I'll get the laptop from my room. And the first aid kit."

Castiel thought he should warn them against their decision, but he knew how stubborn the Winchesters could be. "Thank you."

"Hey," Dean said after Sam disappeared into his room. "We're going to fix this, okay? Sam found how to cure darkness from google search. I'm sure Rowena' spell is going to be a piece of cake compared to that."

Cure darkness? That sounded interesting, but Castiel wasn't sure he'd be able to give the story the attention it deserved. "Yes, I believe you," Castiel said, shivering. His bone ached cold while his breath came out hot. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping it would pass. He opened his eyes as something heavy draped across his shoulders. 

It was Dean's jacket.

"I'm gonna give you a proper blanket but hang onto that in the meanwhile, okay?" Dean said, looking anywhere but him. He looked embarrassed.

"This is more than enough," Cas said, curling his hands around the lapels. 

"Well, that's 'cause you've never had alpaca," Dean joked, then gripped his shoulder tightly. "Hang in there, okay, buddy?"

"Okay," Cas replied. When Dean disappeared as well, Cas succumbed to his impulse to lie down. He burrowed into the jacket, feeling warm and secure. 

It smelled like home.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean stood in the doorway, a thick blanket on one hand and the first aid kit on the other, and watched Cas curled up on the couch.

He'd passed by Sam's room while he'd been coming back to the library. Sam had given one look at the blanket in Dean's arm and shoved the first kit into his chest. He had said that Dean'd better go patch up Cas because it seemed like it'd take a while for him to pick out all the necessary books from his shelves.

Dean had half a mind to call out on his bullshit, but didn't. 

Cas cracked his eyes open at the sound of Dean dragging a chair to the couch. 

"Hey," Dean said. "Wake up. We need to clean your wound."

Cas sighed. "I won't get infected." 

"You never know with our luck."

Cas gave him a grudging agreement and sat up. He hesitated for a moment before letting go of Dean's jacket, then set it carefully beside him. 

Dean swallowed as the shocking red against the shirt revealed itself. He busied himself with putting the blanket on top of the jacket and pulling out necessary stuffs from the kit. 

When he turned back again, Cas was naked from the top. Too many wounds were placed near his heart for Dean's comfort. 

"Shit," Dean hissed as he saw a faint blue whisp coming from the wound. That wasn't just a pretty light show. It was Cas himself sipping through the injury, slipping through Dean's hand. 

Dean dragged his chair closer, and began to gingerly dap away the blood. He felt a matching stab in his gut as his hand went over raised skin. It felt like he put each wound up there. He did. He remembered punching and kicking Cas, not stopping despite the blood on his knuckles and crunch of the bones breaking.

"You won't hurt me."

Dean whipped his head up. Cas was looking down at him with too much understanding.

"The antiseptic doesn't sting," Cas added, as if that could lighten the weight of his eyes. 

Dean opened his mouth, wondering if he should reciprocate Cas's attempt at levity. 

What ended up coming out was "Cas, I'm so sorry," small and broken.

His eyes stung. He ducked his head because he wasn't the injured party here. He felt a warm hand carding through his hair. He heard _It's okay, I forgive you, We're alright._

"I know," Cas said softly.

Dean made a strangled noise at the back of his throat. He wanted to protest, that Cas couldn't just do this, but Cas was shivering again and he was only taking up the time.

"Alright, let's do this fast," Dean said, blinking several times to make sure that his eyes remained dry. He cleaned up all the wounds on the torso, stitched where it needed to be, and wrapped them up securely so that no blue light could escape. 

As he finished up tightening the bandage, Dean realized, "Shit, I should've brought some clean shirt."

"It's alright," Cas said. "I can still fix clothes at least." With a flesh of light, he did just that. He shrugged on his shirt and coat and held his arms wide. "See?" he said, like the dork he was. "Good as new." 

It would have been more convincing if his eyes weren't blood shot from the effect of the spell. Still, he was putting on a brave face, smile kind and warm. Dean wondered how much of a murderous rage Cas was fighting back. He saw how people turned into a frothing mess under the spell. How was Cas doing this? Was it because he was an angel or because he was Cas?

"You still got a scar there," Dean said gruffily, tilting Cas's chin to get at the wound on his cheek. It hurt when Cas closed his eyes and leaned into him.

"You want a big disney band-aid here?" Dean cracked a pained smile.

"You have one?" Cas returned seriously. 

"No. But I'll stock it up later," he said, only half joking.

"Do so," Cas said, looking comfortable with his face nestled in Dean's hand.

His nose stung.

Which led to a big sneeze.

Cas looked at him with wide eyes.

Dean sniffled, embarrassed and wanting to hide in some convenient hole. Although he managed to avoid spraying fully on Cas, he sure did ruin the mood and God, his face must be flaming.

"Here," Cas said, returning his jacket back to him. 

"No," Dean said. "You're the one shivering here." 

Besides, he didn't sneeeze because he was cold. He rarely had the jacket on in the bunker anyway. He was just ...moved into sneezing. 

Fuck, he was pathetic.

"You got me blanket," Cas said firmly. As he all but tried to wrestle Dean back into the jacket, Dean relented and wore the goddamn thing. 

Satisfied, Cas sat back on the couch, wrapping himself in the blanket very pointedly. Dean didn't know one could look that smug while aspiring to be a human burrito.

Dean wanted to say something sarcastic, but got distracted at the rattling sound coming from the corridor. 

It was Sam, pushing on a trolley filled with books and lap tops and three mugs of hot chocolate.

"We have a trolley?" Dean asked incredulously.

Sam nodded with confidence. "We have a trolley."

"And hot chocolate."

"And hot chocolate. I dare say we have everything," Sam said. Turning to Cas he added, "I hope this doesn't taste too molecule-y."

"I like it," Cas pronounced, after a thoughtful sip. "It tastes like kinder cousin of coffee."

Dean snorted at Cas's colorful description. 

With Sam smiling and Cas looking as comfortable as it could get, Dean felt like he could breathe easier. Things were still fucked up but they were all home, and that was more than Dean could ask for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, sue me. I'm a sappy sappy sap ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Cas deserves like three seasons of comfort. I'm looking forward to 11x03 :)


End file.
